


Safe Haven

by TheLoteTree



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Sexual Content, No Beta, Original Character(s), Post-War, Romance, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoteTree/pseuds/TheLoteTree
Summary: Hermione is buckling under the grief and ruin left in the wake of the war. Feeling isolated from her friends and stagnated by the depressing situation at home, she makes an impulsive decision to visit the one person who has always given her what she needed.But what if that person wants something in return?(Previously titled ‘Her Perfect Hiding Place’)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 35
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione wasn't sure what had awoken her but the soft sniffles coming from the bed next to her were the first thing that caught her attention.

 _Ginny_ , she thought, heart clenching in sympathy.

Hermione quietly crawled out of bed and over to where Ginny lay. She took a moment to just look at her, blinking away sleep and feeling her eyes tear up. Ginny lay with her face pressed against her pillow, clutching the sheets to her chest and shaking silently. Her bright red hair was strewn across her pillow like a blazing river, glowing dimly in the weak moonlight. She was a picture of misery.

_Why wouldn't she be? She had lost both her father and brother not one month ago._

Hermione carefully sat down next to her as Ginny let out gasping little sob.

“Ginny,” she whispered, placing her hand on Ginny's arm.

Ginny jumped and turned to face her.

“Hermione,” she said thickly, face red and puffy. “Oh, I'm sorry I woke you up.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say she didn't mind being woken up, that she was more worried about her friends' peace of mind than getting a full night of sleep but Ginny quickly muttered ‘You should go back to sleep’ and ‘I'm fine’ and rolled back over. She hid her face in her pillow again, yanking the blanket over her head.

Hermione squeezed and stroked Ginny's arm as she continued to cry. She made no move to return to bed and Ginny did not tell her to go again.

Eventually, she laid down next to Ginny whose shaking gradually grew weaker, her muffled sobs becoming less and less frequent. After several long minutes, Ginny shifted to her right and moved closer to Hermione. The blanket slipped off her face and Hermione could make out her tightly shut eyes and mouth pressed into a tremulous pale line. She wrapped her arms around her friend as Ginny leaned her head against her own.

“It hurts,” murmured Ginny brokenly.

“I know, Gin,” Hermione replied in the same hushed tone.

And she did. She had killed something inside of herself when she sent her parents away. When she erased herself from their lives. She might not be able to understand what it was like to lose a family member to death but she definitely knew how it felt to lose someone. To know that you'll probably never see them again. And in Hermione's case, if she does, that things will never be the way they used to be.

“I can barely make it through a day without c-crying.”

Hermione tightened her embrace and pressed her nose against Ginny's damp cheek. She could feel her start to tremble again.

“When is it going to stop hurting so much? When is it going to be better?”

Her questions came in soft gasps. Hermione felt tiny drops of water soaking into her shirt. Hermione felt her heart breaking for her friend, the ever present gloom threatening to pull her under, too.

“I don't know, Gin,” she whispered, tucking her chin on top of Ginny's head. “Soon, I hope.”

Ginny didn't say anything, just pressed her face against the side of Hermione's neck and continued to weep. Hermione closed her eyes, feeling tears of her own trickle down her cheeks. She held Ginny until she had cried herself out and fallen asleep.

Hermione stared hollow eyed at the waning moon peeking through a corner of the open window. Her eyes felt dry and itchy from crying and lack of sleep. She still felt desperately sad about all of the deaths that had happened in the war but she didn't want to cry anymore. Tears weren't going to bring any of them back, weren't going to reverse any of the damage that had been done. Not that _she'd_ know anything about loss of course. Not like _she_ had lost anyone in the war.

God, she wanted to get away from this place. From this house of mourning, it's melancholy such a piercing contrast from the rowdy, cheerful Burrow she'd visited so eagerly over the years. Three weeks at the Burrow had made her realise her presence here was, at most, unneeded and, at worst, intrusive.

Not everything was drenched in sorrow though. Harry and Ginny had become closer then ever, bonding over their now mutual grief over losing a parent while Ron and her...

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed quietly.

They were back to square one.

Understandably, Ron had taken the death of his father and brother very hard. But, instead of putting on a brave face like Mrs Weasley and most of his siblings tried to, he had withdrawn into himself. While Ginny and Mrs Weasley tended to break down into tears whenever Fred or Mr Weasley was mentioned, Ron would just shut down and leave the room. He wasn't interested in spending any time with her and would snap at her if she suggested they do something for fun like go for a walk in the village or play Exploding Snap. Even Harry had been shooting him worried looks lately.

Not that Harry was spending much time with her either. He was currently juggling his newly rekindled relationship with Ginny, his new responsibilities as Teddy's godfather and his studies for the Auror programme's entrance exam all at once. It was understandable that he didn't have time for her either.

However, no matter how understandable her friends' behaviour was, it still meant Hermione spent most of her time alone. None of her friends seemed to care that the most stimulating conversation she got every day was discussing the news in the Prophet with Bill and Percy. And except for Harry and Ron, none of them knew that her parents were still somewhere in Australia, living as the happy but childless Wendell and Monica Wilkins.

She needed someone to talk to, to spend time with. So she could learn how it felt to be happy again and not weighed down by this awful misery. She'd spent a year on the run, depressed, starving and under more stress than she could remember. She felt terrible about the losses suffered in the war but she just wanted it all to be over.

She didn't want to be hounded by the press whenever she went to buy something from Diagon Alley. She didn't want to stare at Ron across the living room as he sat brooding and distant in a corner. And she didn't want to see her only female friend cry herself to sleep anymore.

She just wanted to feel happy again and not feel guilty about it.

She needed someone who could understand...just _listened_ to her while she spoke rather than the other way around. Someone who would just be there—

Hermione eyes snapped open.

_Viktor._

Of course. Who else should she talk to other than him? The boy with whom she had diligently kept in touch with despite only seeing him twice since the end of her fourth year. He had always been willing to listen to her at Hogwarts, whether she spoke about her non-magical childhood or S.P.E.W. He would listen quietly and offer his polite but frank opinion about what she said, never annoyed by her talk unlike most of her other friends.

Mind made up, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep again.

She was going to leave the Burrow tomorrow.

*****

The Weasleys were not upset when Hermione announced her intention to leave. Mrs Weasleys had given her a tight smile and wrapped her in her patent motherly embrace, saying that it had been lovely having her here but, yes, it was perhaps time to return to her parents.

“You haven't been home in nearly a year, dear. I'm sure they're quite anxious to see you.”

It took every ounce of her self-restraint not to start bawling right then and there, held in Mrs Weasley's soft, familiar arms. Thankfully, she managed to keep her dignity intact and moved on to shake hands with Bill and Percy and embraced a rather forlorn looking Ginny.

She exited the kitchen, waving a little sadly at her surrogate family and found Ron in the living room. He had stalked out of the room right after she made her announcement that morning and was now looking at her with clear hesitation. He dithered for another moment before he set his jaw determinedly and pulled her into a hug.

Hermione was stunned solid for a moment but quickly came back to herself, returning his embrace eagerly.

“I'm...sorry,” said Ron lowly, haltingly as they pulled away. He stared down at his worn trainers for a moment before looking back up at her with the same resolute twist to his mouth. “For being so distant and...snapping at you. I—I've been in a really bad place lately and I think—I think I...need a little more time.”

He was looking down at her sadly, blue eyes sombre and remorseful. She was reminded again of why she liked him so much. He was honest and, despite his flaws, had a good heart.

“Of course, Ron,” she said smiling up at him and yanking him into another brief hug. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks.”

They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, hyperaware of the tiny space between them. Hermione waited for Ron to say something more, something to hint at that fiery kiss they'd shared mid battle in the beginning of the month. Maybe a word of encouragement about her parents...

“You'll be living in your parents’ house then?”

Hermione nodded.

“You'll be all right?”

_No._

It was the house she had grown up in, played and laughed in. Felt safe and wanted in. But—

“Yes.”

_NO._

It's a skeleton house, she wanted to scream. It's cold and empty and her parents aren't there. Her _parents_ —

“Don't worry about me.”

 _Say something_ , she willed him with her eyes. _Say you'll write, you'll visit. Say you won't just leave me alone again._

She didn't know how much Ron understood but he was clearly uncomfortable as he gazed into her eyes.

He nodded jerkily. “Right. G'bye then.”

He flashed her a smile, a squeeze of her hand and quickly shuffled out of the room.

Hermione watched him leave, feeling like someone had snatched an old but very dear book out of her hands. A book which she had read and reread, sometimes with frustration, sometimes with affection but always with an open mind and heart. She felt a painful stab in her chest as she thought, not for the first time, that maybe she had chosen the wrong book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me your thoughts! This is my first time writing a work of fanfiction and I would appreciate any constructive criticism or suggestions.


	2. Chapter 2

_23rd May, 1998_

_Dear Viktor,_

_I hope you are and your family are safe and that you made it out all right the night of Bill and Fleur's reception. News must have reached you by now that the war in Britain is over. Voldemort is dead. His followers and sympathisers are being rounded up and investigated as I write this. I can't describe to you how happy I am..._

There was an eerie silence in the house when she stepped out of the fireplace. A stillness that she was wholly unused to. It made her skin prickle and her grip on her wand tightened.

_How are things in Bulgaria? I had heard that Voldemort had been trying to expand his influence in Europe while we were on the run. I hope your coach hasn't been working you too hard. You mentioned he was very demanding..._

Crookshanks didn't seem to find anything amiss in the house so she relaxed.

_It's been a difficult couple of months since we last saw each other. Harry, Ron and I had been on the run since the attack on the wedding in August. We were barely getting by and the task we were meant to complete seemed more and more difficult—almost impossible—as time went by..._

There was no furniture in the house. The first thing she did was take out the little box she'd deposited in her locker at the bank. Crookshanks sat grooming himself on the window sill as she unshrunk her possessions in her room. _  
_

_So many people have died or lost someone. I spent the entire first week after the 2nd of May attending funerals, shaking hands with mourners and giving press statements on all three of ours’ behalf..._

There were no signs of a break in, Muggle or magical. She checked the wards she had lain on the house and found them undisturbed.

_There's so much grief here, sometimes I feel it might strangle me..._

She took Crookshanks with her when she went out to get lunch. 

_Ron is mourning his father and brother..._

Hermione couldn't quite shake the expectation that someone was about to call her to set the table or help weed the flowerbeds or even just tell the bloody ghoul to stop making so much noise. _  
_

_Harry is helping raise his godson and trying to land the job he's always wanted..._

_There's barely anyone I can really talk to here. No one who will not take offence if I tell them how tired of it all I am..._

She slowly ambled about the house, taking in the bare patches on the floor and walls where she remembered sofas and cabinets and pictures. She made sure that all of the doors were propped open.

All except the door to her parents’ room of course. She didn't think she had the courage to go there yet.

_I miss you dearly, Viktor..._

Hermione had dinner in her room with Crookshanks curled up on her lap. She wrote the final lines of her letter as she ate her takeaway dinner.

_I miss our walks down by the lake and treks up the hills around Hogwarts. Talking with you was always such a relief._

_Best of luck for your next match. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Hermione._

*****

_28th May, 1998_

_Dear Hermione,_

_I was so happy when I received your letter. I was alarmed when you told me not to write to you anymore at Fleur's wedding and very worried when my father told me your name had been put in Magical Europe's Most Wanted List._

_It is a great relief to hear that that Dark creature Voldemort has been killed and that your Ministry is trying to weed out his followers. The attitude towards the British Ministry and British wizards in general has been very cold here since Minister Thicknesse took office and started implementing such disgusting policies against Muggle-borns. My only comfort was that you were smart enough to see this coming and hide yourself before it happened._

_There have been many confusing and unsettling rumours floating about here. The most horrifying is that Voldemort had created Horcruxes. Is this true? Were the objects that you and your friends had to destroy Horcruxes? The conditions you described while you were on the run sound horrible. And your capture! Did they do anything to you there, while they were interrogating you? It makes my blood boil thinking that someone has harmed you, Hermione._

_How are your parents? You said you had sent them into hiding when we last met. You should go and spend time with them. It will help you stay positive and not succumb to the grief and anger that is inevitable after a war. I would come over there myself to comfort you if I could but the playoffs of the World Cup are well underway in Bulgaria. I won't be able to get a holiday to go abroad until our team is knocked out of the running or if we win in the Final in July._

_Please convey my condolences to the Weasleys. I found Mr Weasley to be a very kind and hospitable man when I met him and am sorry to hear of his death. Though I did not know Fred, I know how difficult it is to loose a loved one. May they rest in peace and their memory be eternal._

_I miss you too. I was full of joy when I saw you at Fleur's wedding and seeing you looking so beautiful and laughing was a wonderful sight. My heart aches knowing that you are unhappy now._

_You said you plan to attend your final year at Hogwarts in September. I wondered, if you do not have plans for the summer, whether you could come visit me in Bulgaria? I know that I was too forward when I asked you to visit me three years ago. You were too young and I made you uncomfortable with my eagerness for which I apologise again. But it is clear to me that you feel neglected by your friends and I think it will be good for you to get away for a while and see new places. The invitation extends to your parents of course. They made me feel very welcome when I visited you during the winter and I would be pleased to meet them again._

_I read somewhere that you cannot stop the birds of sorrow from flying over your head but you can stop them from making nests in your hair. It is going to be difficult for some time but I know you will pull through. You are as strong as you are smart, my sweet Hermione._

_I_ _look forward to your next letter. You are never far from my mind._

_Your devoted friend,_

_Viktor_

Hermione slowly folded up the letter into a neat square and let Viktor's Eagle Owl out the window. She stood watching the large grey bird flapping away across the dark, cloudy sky.

She didn't even have to think about it. Hermione climbed down the stairs and picked up the telephone in the foyer. Searching the directory next to the phone, she found the number she was looking for and punched it in.

“Hello, British Airways,” said a female voice on the other end. “How may I help you?”

“Yes, I'd like to book a flight to Dobrich, Bulgaria.”


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Hermione stepped out of the foreign arrivals section at Varna Airport, she was bombarded with dozens of people waving signs and shouting in various languages at the emerging travellers.

“Yulian Yanevski!”

“Martha, welcome back!”

“Over here, idiot!”

She scanned the dozens of rather colourful signs for her name but no luck. That is, not until her gaze snagged on a rather peculiar sign, written in large block letters: ‘Awaiting a kiss from an English witch.’

Hermione's jaw dropped and her eyes shot up to meet the black ones glittering mischievously above the edge of the sign. Only his eyes and short dark hair were visible but Hermione had no doubt who it was.

“Viktor!”

The black eyes crinkled at the edges. Without hesitation Hermione marched towards him, an uncontrollable smile splitting across her face. She yelped suddenly, stopping short and skittering to the side as she bumped into a small boy on her way over. She blushed furiously as the mother of the nearly trampled toddler glared at her and quickly took the last few steps towards the man with the mocking sign. She leaned over the railing, yanking the white cardboard out of his hands to reveal the grinning, _bearded_ face of Viktor Krum.

Without a second thought, she threw the sign over her shoulder, grabbed the front of his collar and smashed his lips against hers. He seemed to freeze for a second before his lips began moving against hers. Hermione immediately pulled away and smiled smugly at the flushed and rather dazed look on Viktor's face.

“So, is that all you wanted when you invited me here?” she asked cheekily.

“Vy don't you get out of the crowd and find out?” he said a bit breathlessly, jerking his head to the end of the aisle.

Hermione flashed him a smile and walked forwards and to the side, out of the way of the other new arrivals. He met her as she rounded the edge of the walkway. She threw her arms around his neck, grinning, and squealed when he picked her up and spun her around in a circle.

“Oh, it's so lovely to see you, Viktor!” she exclaimed as he set her down.

“It is vunderful to see you, too, Hermy-o-nee.”

His eyes were sparkling as he grinned down at her and Hermione felt a rush of pleasure seeing how happy he was to see her. He insisted on carrying her luggage which comprised of only one small suitcase (more for appearances than anything, since she had brought her beaded bag with her as well). He led her over to a waiting taxi just beside the pavement and barked a few orders at the driver, brows knitted into his signature scowl. The small, balding driver let out a frightened ‘ _da sar!_ ’ and scrambled out of the car. He took Hermione's suitcase and put it in the boot while Viktor opened the door for her.

Once the three of them were seated, Viktor squabbled with the driver in rapid Bulgarian for a few minutes before the driver seemed to cave and started up the car. As they pulled out of the airport, Viktor turned back to her, smiling again, and asked about her trip.

“It was pleasant enough,” answered Hermione. “Departure was at a decent hour so that helped.”

Hermione's flight had left Heathrow at 8 am. It was now midday as their taxi made its way past the small town of Aksakovo.

“It's good to know you did not face any discomfort on your journey,” commented Viktor.

Hermione hummed and gazed out the window at the passing buildings. She was slowly beginning to realise how reckless she had been at the airport. She'd never planned on kissing him! It had just been a combination of relief and happiness at seeing him. A playfulness that he always managed to coax out of her whenever he was around.

“I vos sorry to hear that your parents ver not able to come,” said Viktor after a minute of silence.

Hermione stiffened as all her concerns about her impulsive kiss evaporated. She turned back to Viktor with a tight smile. “Yes, most unfortunate.”

Viktor frowned, clearly puzzled by her brusque response. Before he could ask her to elaborate though, Hermione enquired about his Quidditch matches up till now. He gave her a look which made it clear he knew what she was doing but let it slide as he described the games he had played in the recent months.

Their car was now flanked on either side by flat green plains that stretched out into the distance, seeming to fuse with the azure sky on the treeless horizon. Her hair had already started to frizz from the humidity and the strong gusts of wind blowing in through the open windows were doing it no more favours. After about 30 minutes the driver took a sharp right and Hermione spotted a small suburb in the distance.

“That's Shuranovo,” supplied Viktor.

Hermione nodded as the town grew bigger and similar looking whitewashed, tiled houses came into focus. The taxi continued down the road lined by beeches and oaks, occasionally jerking over cracks in the tarmac. They pulled up in front of a medium sized house on a street corner in what Hermione thought was the centre of the town. She retrieved her suitcase from the trunk while Viktor paid the driver.

Hermione fanned herself as she leaned against the white baluster fence bordering the house. The heat had been bearable with the windows down in the taxi but now her shirt was beginning to stick to her back.

“Shouldn't have vorn long sleeves if you're troubled by the heat,” said Viktor, eyeing her with amusement.

Hermione huffed and opened her mouth to issue a scathing retort when suddenly the front door of the house burst open and a blond woman strode out.

“Vitya!” she called, bouncing down the front steps.

Tall and slim, wearing a tasteful blouse and capris, Hermione thought she looked quite pretty. They met her on the cement porch and she turned to Hermione with a toothy grin, hazel eyes sparkling impishly.

“And you must be Vitya's girlfriend!”

Hermione jerked back a little in surprise and turned to Viktor with raised brows.

“Anya,” he growled at the blond, scowling.

The blond woman, who Hermione now recognised as Viktor's sister, rolled her eyes derisively.

“ _Ne badi snisnovana_ , Vitya,” she said lazily. “ _Vsichki znaem,_ _che vse oshte ste lud po neya._ ”

Viktor's scowl deepened but a faint blush also began to bloom across his sunburned cheeks. Big sister teasing then, concluded Hermione.

“Just kidding,” said the blond smoothly and shook Hermione's hand. “I'm Anya, by the way. Viktor's sister. _Do_ hope he's mentioned me.”

Hermione breathed a laugh. “He certainly has. He says you're a brilliant reporter and say everything you're not supposed to say.”

“Vich sums her up quite nicely,” muttered Viktor.

“Vy don't you come inside, Hermy-own-ninny?” asked Anya loudly, drowning out her brother's grumbling. “Baba and Kitty are so excited to meet you!”

With a surprisingly strong grip, Anya pulled her across the porch and up the wide steps to the the front door. She shot a startled glance back at Viktor who looked remarkably like a stunned owl.

The front door opened into a long lounge with white walls, a tiled floor, several showcases, sofas, a fireplace and—was that a _TV_? A large TV was indeed present, sitting on a wooden trolley showing a children's cartoon at full volume. A small, brown haired boy sat on the carpet watching the cartoon avidly. Anya had released her and then promptly disappeared down a flight of stairs in the far right corner, calling for her elder sister. Bright sunlight was streaming in through a set of glass doors on the opposite wall which appeared to lead out into the backyard. The only sound in the large room was coming from the blaring television. Hermione shifted awkwardly near the front door for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. Just then, Viktor stepped inside, carrying her suitcase. He had clearly overcome his shock over—wait, what _had_ he been shocked over?

“Sasho!” said Viktor sternly, scowling in the boy's direction. The little boy jumped and looked over at Viktor like he'd been caught picking his nose. “Turn down the volume. You know Baba dislikes loud noises.”

“Yes, Uncle Vitya.”

Hermione felt her brows creep up her forehead. The boy sounded totally English! But then she remembered that his mother, Viktor's eldest sister, had married an English wizard. She must be visiting over the summer.

“And come here. I vant you to meet somevun.”

The boy got up and hesitantly walked over to where they stood by the door. He leaned against Viktor, half hidden behind his pant leg, and looked up at her shyly. Bending down, Viktor scooped him up into his arms and turned so the boy was now facing her directly.

“Sasho, this is my very special friend. She's from England, too, and vill be staying vith us for the summer, _dobre_?”

Sasho nodded and kept his gaze on Viktor's face. Viktor arched his brows and jerked his head in Hermione's direction.

“Go on, _momche_ , introduce yourself! Hasn't your mother taught you how to greet a guest?”

Hermione's lips twitched into a smile as she watched Sasho bristle. He raised his chin haughtily and extended his hand in Hermione's direction.

“Hello, my name is Alexander Dawlish and I'm 4 years old,” he intoned solemnly. “I live in Oxford and my favourite food is ice cream.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing and grasped Sasho's hand. “It's very nice to meet you. I'm Hermione Granger and I'm 18 years old. I live in London and my favourite food is macaroni and cheese.”

As expected, the boy's eyes lit up upon hearing her last few words and he turned back to his uncle with an emphatic, “I like her!”

Soon afterwards, Anya emerged from the basement with two women in tow. The younger one had long black hair and small, pointed features like Anya's. To Hermione's surprise, she enthusiastically grasped her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Welcome to our home, Hermione!” she greeted. Her voice barely had an accent. “It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!”

“Likewise, Kitty,” said Hermione genially, earning a pleased smile from the witch.

“And this is Baba, our grandmother.”

Kitty stepped back to reveal a tall, frowning woman with a hooked nose like Viktor's. Her white hair was tied into a severe bun and she wore long, plum coloured robes that contrasted oddly with the Muggle clothes everyone else was wearing. She reminded Hermione of McGonagall when she first met her.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Krum,” said Hermione, offering a smile and her hand.

Madam Krum's brows arched and nostrils flared as if she had smelt something foul. Hermione was reminded of the way Mrs Malfoy looked at the Quidditch World Cup before her fourth year and was about to retract her hand when Madam Krum grasped it tightly.

“Mees Granger,” she said, her voice deeper and huskier than her granddaughters’. “ _Vary_ pleased to meet you.”

Hermione grimaced as Madam Krum's fingers clamped tighter around hers. Kitty let out a loud ‘ahem ahem’ and Madam Krum released her.

“Come along, Hermione,” said Kitty in what Hermione thought was an entirely too cheery tone of voice. “Let me show you to your room.”

Hermione was annoyed to find herself being ushered down the stairs before she could say something in reply. Why had Viktor's grandmother been so cold towards her? Surely it wasn't because of her blood status? She could still feel the rude woman's stare boring holes into her head as she descended into the basement.

The stairs led down into a cosy, well lit room with a fireplace, bookshelves against most of the walls and a set of beautifully carved table and chairs in the centre beneath a simple chandelier. Hermione could feel her hair sticking to the back of her neck. It was sweltering down here!

“This is the study,” supplied Kitty. “We don't use it much in the summer. Too hot.”

Hermione quickly followed Kitty down a dark corridor opposite the staircase, hoping it might be cooler there. There were four doors in the corridor, two on each side. Kitty pointed out the bathroom to the right and led her through the second door on the left.

The room was quite spacious, with a double bed against the left wall, a wardrobe and dresser on either side of it. There was a small table and a pair of chairs in a corner near the door and a writing desk stood under the only window in the room. There was even an AC!

Kitty turned on the ceiling fan and Hermione sighed gratefully, slumping onto the bed. Kitty grinned and came to sit beside her.

“It would be prudent to wear something lighter,” she said, “Summers here can be quite a trial for delicate Englishwomen.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, bunching up her messy hair into a bun. “If Voldemort and his Death Eaters couldn't kill me I doubt a little heat will.”

Kitty's playful smile vanished, presently replaced by a very solemn expression.

“Yes, we heard about that,” she said. “Viktor was very anxious. Said that you were on the run and he couldn't write to you.”

She leaned forward and squeezed Hermione's forearm. Hermione stiffened. She was squeezing right over her scar.

“It was very brave of you, standing up against You-Know-Who and his followers. Coming generations are going to thank you for what you did.”

Hermione smiled tightly. She knew Kitty was being sincere but she really didn't want to talk about the war or be praised for fighting in it. It hurt to remember all that had happened. She wouldn't think about it though. She was here to get away.

“Yes, I hear that quite frequently,” replied Hermione. “So, I didn't know you'd be visiting. Viktor didn't mention it in his letters...”

Kitty seemed to go rigid for a minute before she smiled evenly. “Oh, yes, we arrived just this morning. On quite short notice actually though I won't bore you with the details of course.”

Standing up rather abruptly, Kitty said that she was going upstairs to see about lunch and that Hermione should freshen up a bit before their meal.

Hermione felt a bit dizzy. Both from dehydration and the vastly different reactions she had received upon her arrival. She resolved to ask Viktor about it later. For now, she grimaced, she really needed a shower.

*****

Translations:

Da, sar — Yes, sir

Ne badi snisnovana, Vitya. Vsichki znaem, che vse oshte ste lud po neya. — Don't be coy, Vitya. We all know you're still mad about her.

Dobre _—_ okay

Momche — boy/kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if I have made mistakes in the little bit of Bulgarian I have included in this chapter. I do not speak Bulgarian and am using an online translator. If you speak Bulgarian and find any mistakes, please feel free to correct me.


	4. Chapter 4

Lunch consisted of salad (‘Shopska’, Anya had proclaimed proudly), beans and potatoes and grilled chicken and cheese sandwiches. Hermione was not surprised when the conversation about her journey magically morphed into a discussion on the ongoing World Cup.

“Japan haff reely been shooting teams out of the vauter this year,” said Viktor.

“Right?” said Anya excitedly, trying to speak and chew at the same time. It reminded her a little unsettlingly of Ron. “They not even make it to the playoffs last time but this time they knocked out Poland _and_ Russia!”

“I wanted the Tornadoes to play for the World Cup,” asserted Sasho confidently. He had discarded one of the toast slices from his sandwich and was picking out chunks of chicken to pop in his mouth. “Dad says they're the best in the League!”

The air around the table became inexplicable tense. Hermione looked around to see Viktor and Madam Krum directing identical scowls at their plates while the relaxed smile had evaporated from Kitty's face.

After a beat of silence, it was Anya who spoke.

“I'm sure you did, Sasho,” she said a bit stiffly. “But deeferent players from deeferent teams make up English National team, not just players from one team. It not work like that, _momche_.”

Hermione wondered why Kitty had shown up out of the blue. Viktor had clearly not been expecting it. A family emergency perhaps? She glanced at the austere Madam Krum at the head of the table, at her rigidly straight posture and fierce scowl, and seriously doubted it.

“So, Kitty,” she began carefully. “How is your husband? Is he going to be joining us later in the summer?”

Kitty's face paled and she seemed to choke on her sip of water. Taken aback, Hermione was just about to ask if she was all right when Kitty swallowed hard and said in a breathy, high pitched voice, “Fine. He's fine. And no, he won't be joining us.”

Anya was staring with raised brows at her brother whose face was flaming. Hermione then noticed Madam Krum shooting her a venomous glare, as if willing her to self combust. Confused and a little ashamed, Hermione felt herself shrink in her chair.

The heavy silence was thankfully broken by a loud crash and the shattering of glass. Everyone jumped and all eyes darted to Sasho who had apparently tipped his glass of water onto the floor.

“Sasho! Be careful with that! You could have got hurt!”

“No, no, stay in your seat, sweetie. Mama will fix it.”

The glass was perfunctorily repaired by Kitty and the mess mopped up in seconds. The conversation then meandered to the much safer and less personal topic of neighbourhood gossip. Hermione silently mulled over what had just happened, pointedly ignoring Viktor's apologetic glances.

*****

“What was that?” Hermione burst as soon as she and Viktor were out of the house. Viktor had tactfully suggested they go for a walk after lunch. “Did Kitty row with her husband or something?”

Viktor hesistated, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked up at the overcast sky.

“Yes, she did,” he said. His mouth curled nastily for a second as he muttered something else under his breath.

Hermione frowned. “Has...has this happened before?”

Viktor scowled at an oddly dressed couple walking down the street. The couple quickly moved on. “A few times now, yes. Her husband is not an honourable man.”

Viktor had now turned to glaring at the trees lining the road. Hermione bit her lip. He'd never mentioned his sister having any marital problems. But, she supposed it's not something you normally share with someone who you rarely see and isn't part of the family. She decided to change the subject.

“Your grandmother seems to have taken an instant dislike of me. Is it—” Hermione grimaced “—is it because of my blood status?”

“No!” cried Viktor, immediately snapping out of his brooding state. “Of course not! My family is not prejudiced!”

“Then why was she looking at me like I was a particularly odorous fish?”

He barked a laugh. Hermione stared at him, lips twisting and brows creasing into a frown. She felt a few drops of cold wetness land on her head and shirt.

“What's so funny?” she asked shrilly.

“Baba... does not like foreigners,” said Viktor, shooting her a half-apologetic smile. “Especially—ah—people from your island.”

Hermione scowled as more drops of water began to beat down on her. A soft drizzle had begun to fall but Viktor seemed unconcerned and kept walking.

“I suppose that has something to do with Kitty's husband then?”

“Partly. It's also got to do with my grandfather's death. It vos an English friend of his who betrayed him to Grindelvald.”

Hermione pursed her lips as she mulled over this new piece of information. She could see why Madam Krum would dislike English people if one of them had conspired to murder her husband and another was now making her granddaughter miserable. But that was no reason to dislike _her_ from the get go! Especially since the old woman had never met her before. Hermione wondered at the nature of the quarrel between Kitty and her husband.

_Negligence? Infidelity? Abuse?_

Hermione grimaced at her last thought. Viktor had stopped walking and tipped his head back, fully exposing his face to the downpour. It had started raining in earnest now.

Hermione grimaced. Her clothes were getting thoroughly soaked and her bun had slumped from the crown of her head to the back of her neck.

“We should head back. We're sopping,” said Hermione, turning around.

“Vy?” asked Viktor, turning back to her with a playful gleam in his eyes. “Vee are already vet. And it's summer rain! You should enjoy it! Your first time baathing in Bulgarian rain.”

Hermione laughed, the seriousness from earlier dissipating with the heat of the day. “Bay-thing.”

“Bay-thing then,” mimed Viktor mockingly. He smiled at her and offered his hand. “Valk with me.”

Hermione looked at the way his eyes glowed under thick wet lashes and the way his shirt clung to his thin, muscled torso and felt her heart beat faster. She took his hand.

“My next match is on Venzday and then another on Sunday so you'll haff to forgive me if I can't spend lot of time vith you this veek.

“But, I'll be free for two veeks after that,” Viktor quickly added as he saw Hermione's face beginning to fall. “And then I promise I vill take you to Varna and Ruse and Sofia. Verever you vant.”

Hermione couldn't help but smile. It felt nice being doted on like this. Especially after she'd done nothing but sacrifice and compromise for months.

“Hmm,” said Hermione, her smile turning coy. “It's lucky the Cup's being held in Bulgaria or else I wouldn't have been able to come.”

She saw a flash of white teeth as Viktor smiled. “Very lucky, yes.”

Hermione sighed as a warm summer breeze blew across the road, sending a pleasant chill up her spine and bare legs. A few children were out on the street, laughing and jumping about in the puddles. A dog was barking in the distance. Viktor swung their linked arms backwards and forwards and Hermione laughed, feeling like an ordinary girl out for a rainy stroll with her boyfriend.

_No. Not boyfriend_ , thought Hermione, immediately shooting down that idea. _Viktor's a friend. It's Ron I want. Ron._

She watched as Viktor swept back his drenched hair and wrung out his short beard in the same motion.

“I like the beard by the way,” she blurted and immediately started to turn pink. “Makes you look more...”

Viktor quirked a brow at her. “More?”

“Masculine.” She quickly turned away from him, acutely aware of her blush.

“Though it's not like you need to look any more aggressive than you normally do,” added Hermione hastily. “And don't you think you were a bit too hard on that driver at the airport?”

“That little thief? No! He vos asking for 80 leva ven I know that airport to Shuranovo is never more than 50.”

He huffed indignantly and Hermione released a silent sigh of relief. It seemed she had successfully distracted him from—

Hermione squeaked as Viktor suddenly yanked her into his arms. One arm looped around her waist and he trapped her left hand between his hand and chest.

“Speaking of airport,” said Viktor, his smile mischievous and eyes alight with a sensual kind of delight. “that kiss vos much too short, no?”

Hermione felt her breathing speed up as blood rushed back to her cheeks. She looked down trying to gain control of her fluttering heart and immediately stiffened. Her sleeve had ridden up to expose a ragged pink ‘D’ on the inside of her forearm. She quickly pronated her arm to hide the ugly mark.

Viktor had been watching her reaction and now looked curiously down at her hand on his chest. He toyed with the edge of her sleeve. Hermione stood perfectly still, not even breathing, as she waited to see what he'd do. After a moment he looked up at her, all signs of desire extinguished from his eyes.

“Vy are you vearing long sleeves, _mila_?”

Hermione became acutely aware of the incongruity of her khakhi shorts with her wrist length cardigan. Viktor looked concerned and...sad? Hermione felt a jolt. Did he _know_?

Hermione wrenched herself out of his arms, feeling cornered and defensive. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke.

“I'd like to go back now.”

Lukewarm rain was still pouring down on them and she could distantly make out the laughter of children. But, this didn't feel at all pleasant anymore.

Viktor nodded. “Votever you vant.”

They walked back to the house in silence. Viktor did not try to touch her again but remained close by. Hermione tried to ignore how much this comforted her.

*****

Translations:

Mila — Dear/beloved


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione did not see much of Viktor in the next several days. He would be at practice in the mornings and evenings so the only time they spent together was a few hours in the afternoon. Hermione wasn't really complaining. She was positive Viktor knew she was hiding something and despite his being so easy to talk to, Hermione was reluctant to tell him what had happened. To show him how her body had been abused. She didn't want to see his disgust when he found out about the slur carved into her arm. She occupied herself with reading, helping Kitty around the house and observing the other residents of the Krum household.

Anya and Mr Krum, Viktor's father, spent most of the day at work. Sasho spent most of his time watching TV, playing with his toys and pestering his mother about when they'll go out. Madam Krum, she learned, never ventured into the basement unless she needed to take a bath, preferring to use the facilities on the ground floor. She walked unsteadily, with the help of an aluminum walker, and devoted her time to reading, doing needle-work and alternately ignoring and glaring at Hermione.

Hermione found to her disappointment that the majority of books in the Krums’ study were in Bulgarian so her reading options were much more limited than she initially thought. No matter, it was just more encouragement for her to learn the language while she's here. At least it would help her understand the offhanded comments Madam Krum made, thinking Hermione wouldn't know they were really about _her._

She approached Kitty on the third day of her visit.

“Kitty,” she said, leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and dining room. “I noticed most of the books downstairs are in Bulgarian.”

“Mhmm,” Kitty responded distractedly, not looking up from the vegetables she was chopping.

“Well, obviously since I don't know any Bulgarian, I can't read them so I was wondering if...if you could teach me?”

Kitty's knife suddenly stopped midway through cutting a carrot. She carefully pressed it down the rest of the way and laid the knife flat on the chopping board. She turned to Hermione and folded her arms, an odd, confused expression on her face.

“You want to learn Bulgarian?” she asked slowly.

“Yes,” replied Hermione, feeling a little defensive. “I do. Is...is there a problem with that?”

Kitty blinked and her usual relaxed smile spread across her face. “No. Of course not. I was thinking about getting an alphabet book and some Bulgarian storybooks for Sasho. You two could...learn together if you want?”

“Yes!” said Hermione, an answering smile breaking out on her face. “Yes, that'd be really nice, thanks.”

“ _Malkiyat angliyski plevel shte nauchi bulgarski_ ,” cut in in a contemptuous voice. It was Madam Krum who was sitting at the dining room table behind them, her embroidery spread out across the table. “ _Bikh iskal da vidya tova._ ”

Hermione pursed her lips and glanced back at Kitty. She was scowling.

“Yes, she is going to learn Bulgarian,” said Kitty, her eyes flickering over to Hermione. “And I think she'll be quite good at it.”

Madam Krum scoffed and did not look up from her needlework. Kitty pulled her lips between her teeth and came to lean opposite Hermione on the door frame.

“What are you working on, Baba?” asked Kitty.

Madam Krum opened her mouth to reply but Kitty added sternly, “ _Govori na angliyski._ ”

Madam Krum glared at her but then turned towards Hermione and said slowly, “Anya's vedding dresses.”

Hermione felt her brows shoot up. “Anya's getting married?”

“No, no,” said Kitty, laughing and nodding. That was another weird thing to get used to here. Everyone nodded to indicate ‘no’ and shook their heads to indicate ‘yes’. “This is for her trousseau.”

“Oh.”

Hermione stepped forward to look at the embroidery more closely. It was mostly geometric patterns in red with hints of other colours here and there. The bright red thread stood out in stark contrast to the bone white fabric. It reminded Hermione uncomfortably of bloodstains.

“It's pretty," she said.

“Thank you,” muttered Madam Krum stiffly, determinedly keeping her eyes on her embroidery ring.

Kitty shook her head, looking pleased. She turned to Hermione and said, “We'll go to the bookstore after lunch.”

*****

That night, Viktor came home crowing over Bulgaria's victory over Uganda. He pounded up the stairs from the basement, calling for his sisters and nephew.

“Anya! Kitty! Sasho!”

The family, with Hermione, had listened to the game on the wireless and were already aware of Bulgaria's triumph. Even so, both Kitty and Anya leapt up from their seats in the living room and embraced their brother as he emerged, beaming proudly at him. Hermione also got to her feet as Viktor swept up Sasho, swinging and bouncing him in his arms. The little boy squealed excitedly while Kitty looked on, apparently torn between amusement and concern.

“280 to 60!” he exclaimed, grinning. He held Sasho at arms length, speaking with a wild exuberance Hermione had never before heard in his voice. “Bulgaria's going to vin this year, Sasho! I can feel it in my bones!”

He set down his nephew and met Hermione's gaze as he straightened. His hair was still damp from his shower, his smile a little lopsided and his eyes strangely aglow as he took her in. Hermione stepped up to him with a smile and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Congratulations, Viktor,” she said, squeezing his arm. “You were brilliant!”

He was looking at her with a strange intensity and this close she thought she smelt something faintly fruity coming from his mouth. He opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a startled yelp as he jumped away from her. Madam Krum had arrived on the other side of Viktor and by the looks of it had trod her walker on his foot. Hermione quietly retreated to a corner as Madam Krum hugged and kissed Viktor on the forehead. His father also favoured him with a pleased smile and gave him a onearmed hug.

Hermione had exchanged no more than a dozen words with Mr Krum since she had arrived. He was at the Ministry most of the time and spent a good deal of his evenings holed up in his room. He was a taciturn man, mostly preferring to listen instead of speak during family discussions. He seemed affectionate enough towards his children but gave Hermione as much consideration as Madam Krum did. Hermione wondered how much of that was Madam Krum's influence and how much his own judgement.

“Did the rakia supply run short tonight?” asked Anya teasingly as they all settled on the sofas. _Rakia?_ , thought Hermione confusedly.

“No,” said Viktor, still smiling a little unevenly and bouncing Sasho on his knee. “Coach only allow us a shot each. He vants us to be there for practice tomorrow morning instead of in bed with hangovers.”

Hermione felt a surprised jolt. He'd been drinking! She couldn't help but frown. Her parents had a very low opinion of drunkards. But then again alcohol was a traditional part of a Quidditch victory celebration. The Weasley twins had snuck whole crates of Butterbeer into the castle for just this purpose numerous times...

Hermione felt a fissure of guilt at the thought of Fred and George. She remembered the last time she saw Fred, pale and unsmiling, in a wooden coffin and the few times she saw George before she left Britain. Silent as a ghost with rumpled clothes and hair, tapping out a discordant, anxious little tune against the edge of a window sill or table.

Hermione clinched her eyes shut, forcefully pushing the thoughts away. There was nothing she could do for George. She'd hardly known him during their Hogwarts days, disapproving as she was of his and Fred's constant hi-jinks. What comfort could she provide that his family and friends could not?

Back in the present, the Krums had begun discussing the highlights of the game. Hermione, not really interested in listening to a repetition of the game's commentary, got up to return to her room. Viktor's eyes snapped to her at her movement. Hermione nearly stumbled and felt her cheeks turn red at the heated look he threw her way. She felt a strange answering flutter in her stomach and quickly scurried down the stairs, feeling flustered and guilty with her response.

*****

Anya took an off day on Friday so that she, Kitty and Hermione could spend the day touring the city of Dobrich. Hermione went to change her clothes in her room after breakfast. Grabbing a pair of jean shorts and a button-up shirt, she bent down to retrieve her trainers from the bottom shelf of the wardrobe. As she pulled them out, something small and round came rolling out with them. It was a little golden ball. It rolled a few times on the beige carpet before coming to a halt. Hermione frowned as she picked it up.

It was a Snitch.

Further investigation of the shelf yielded an empty bottle of broom polish. Realisation dawning, she slowly lifted her head and looked about the room. Her eyes flitted to the photograph of Viktor and his sisters on the wall and at the painting of an austere looking castle next to snow capped mountains and a lake.

This was Viktor's room.

*****

“Mama, look at the bears!” said Sasho, excitedly pointing at the large brown animals lumbering about in their enclosure.

“Yes, _bebe_ , they're wonderful,” said Kitty, smiling down at him.

One of the bears approached the glass wall separating them from the bear's habitat and Sasho stepped back a little, looking frightened. Suddenly, Anya hoisted him up and shoved him against the glass crying, “Eat him, bear! Eat him!”

Hermione's eyes widened as Sasho shrieked, kicking his arms and legs, trying to get away from the beast which now stood just a few feet from them. The bear yawned widely, opening its mouth to display it's long yellow canines. This scared the poor boy even more who dissolved into screams of, “Mama! Mama!”

To Hermione's surprise, Kitty didn't look too concerned about her child's distress and laughingly told Anya to, 'Put him down already.' Anya let him go and the boy immediately ran to his mother, clinging to her waist. Kitty hugged him back, smoothing his hair and murmuring comforting words to him. She picked him up and the pair headed towards the little canteen nearby. Sasho rested his head on his mother's shoulder, glowering back at Anya as he was carried away. Anya gave a jaunty wave goodbye.

“Why'd you do that?” asked Hermione, a little offended on the boy's behalf.

“Because it's fun!” replied Anya blithely. “And the boy needs a good scare vunce in a vile. To toughen him up.”

“Our father used to do that to Viktor ven vee ver younger,” she added as they stopped in front of the neighbouring enclosure. “If it had been little Vitya back there, he would haff yawned right back at that bear!”

Hermione laughed as Anya dropped her mouth open in an exaggerated yawn, eyes rolling back in her head. Anya flashed her a smile and went to lean back against the glass divider.

“So, how did you meet Viktor?” she asked. Her eyes were still distinctly mischievous but now possessed a scrutinising quality.

“Well, he asked me to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament,” said Hermione, surprised that Viktor hadn't told her.

“I know that,” said Anya, waving her hand dismissively. “Before the ball.”

Hermione told her about Viktor coming to the library every day and watching her, trying to pluck up the courage to speak to her. Anya looked surprised.

“Viktor isn't usually vun to be shy,” she said a little disbelievingly.

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose he liked that I didn't treat him any differently from the other boys at school.” She smirked. “And I had taken to hexing his fan girls whenever they got too loud.”

“Reely?” asked Anya, an appreciative gleam in her eyes.

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione, smiling rather evilly now. “Itching powder down their shirts, Permanent Sticking Charm to the skirt...oh, and there was this really annoying band of them that painted ‘I <3 you’ on their eyelids. I hexed it to read ‘I <3 poo’.”

Anya laughed outright. “Superb!”

She shook her head at Hermione, looking at her with a new sort of appreciation. “Yes, now I can see how you caught his attention.”

Hermione began to blush and quickly added, “My actions were completely self-serving, of course. It was really hard to study with so much giggling and whispering going on.”

Though she could admit, at least privately, that she had enjoyed the smiles and appreciative glances he'd thrown at her whenever she'd managed to upset his stalkers.

“Sure.” Anya was smirking at her and clearly didn't believe her.

Hermione pursed her lips and stared pointedly at the leopards in the enclosure, trying to will away her damn blush. The two women stood silently for a minute, Hermione watching the leopards and Anya watching Hermione before Anya suddenly exclaimed, “Okho! Look who's coming back.”

Kitty and Sasho were heading their way, both bearing two ice cream cones each. Kitty nudged her son forward and Sasho reluctantly stepped up to Anya, face scrunched up unpleasantly. Anya dropped to one knee in front of him.

“That for me, Sasho?” she asked softly, smiling at him.

Sasho gave her an ornery look and silently pushed one of the cones towards her. He looked like he'd rather be back with the bear. Anya took the cone.

“ _Blagodarya ti_ ,” she said, pecking him on the cheek.

“Yekh!” said Sasho in disgust, leaning away from her. Anya straightened up. “Come on! We haven't seen the lions yet!”

Sasho visibly paled and Kitty sent a quelling glare at her little sister. Anya simply rolled her eyes and skipped up the path, slurping her rapidly melting ice cream.

*****

“Those patterns look a bit like the ones your grandmother was making the other day,” said Hermione, pointing at the mannequin of a woman in the corner.

They were at the Ethnographic House, an architectural heritage site in the city. Anya and Sasho were loitering in the parlour while Hermione and Kitty had moved on to the kitchen.

“Yes, they do, don't they,” replied Kitty a little absently. She was gazing about at the assortment of pots, pans and plates surrounding the mannequin like a makeshift fortress. “You know, I didn't even know how to make a stew when I got married.”

“Oh?” asked Hermione, trying not too sound too surprised. No one had mentioned Kitty's marriage or her estrangement with her husband since she'd arrived. _Well_ , Hermione winced internally, _except me of course._

There was a somewhat sour smile on her face. “Oh, yes. The most complicated thing I could cook up was an omelette. My mother-in-law basically taught me how to cook from scratch...”

“So—er—how long have you been married?”

“Six years this August,” answered Kitty flatly, gazing at the besieged wax mannequin.

“Right,” Hermione nodded awkwardly.

Kitty sighed and canted her head to look at Hermione. “You can ask, you know. I was bit upset the day you arrived and—well—I thought Viktor had told you. He talked about you so often that I just assumed—”

“That I knew,” finished Hermione. She nodded. “I didn't, obviously.”

Hermione suddenly frowned, a new idea occuring to her. “Viktor came to visit me the year before last. During Christmas break. He said he'd come to spend Christmas with you and your family...”

After the Triwizard Tournament, Viktor did not visit England again until Christmas break in her sixth year. He hadn't mentioned any plans to come to England in any of his letters and Hermione was very surprised to receive a letter from him on Christmas day saying that he was just an hour's drive away and could he visit her?

“Yes. I'd...James and I had had another fight and he'd left. He didn't come home for weeks after that and I was...really depressed.” A dark cloud passed over Kitty's face and she stared glumly at the wax dummy. “I suppose the letters I sent home made it pretty clear how unhappy I was.” A small smile broke through the dark cloud like a tiny sunbeam. “But then the night before Christmas, I went to the supermarket to get a few things and when I got home...I heard laughter in the living room. It was Sasho and a man who hadn't been there when I left. It didn't sound like James and my father-in-law was on duty that night.” A broad smile brightened her face, chasing away the last vestiges of gloom. “It was Vitya. He said he'd been worried about me and had come to spend the holidays with me.” Kitty snorted. “He said it would be doubly enjoyable without my lout of a husband around.” She lapsed into contemplative silence again.

Hermione hesitated before asking, “If...if you fight so often, why don't you just leave him for good?”

Kitty opened her mouth to reply but stopped as Anya and Sasho had just entered the room. Without a word, Kitty grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the room and towards the stairs.

“It's not that simple,” she said as they trooped up the stone steps. “James...James isn't a bad man. He's just been raised with different principles.” Kitty paused at the top of the stairs and grimaced at the little cabinet in the corridor, as if the trinkets inside it were the root of all her problems. “He thinks it's all right to fool around with other women, despite being married.”

Hermione's mouth fell open, surprised and thoroughly disgusted. She'd suspected infidelity but she hadn't expected it to be with _multiple_ women. Kitty was still talking.

“I mean, he's discreet about it—it would he unbearable if he wasn't—”

“But that's horrible!”

“I know! Why do you think I'm here!?”

Hermione snapped her mouth shut as Kitty went on, now pacing up and down the corridor. The corridor was deserted but Hermione wondered if there was anyone in the adjacent rooms who could hear them.

“He's a good father, Sasho adores him. He's respectful towards his father and takes care of his mother and makes sure we don't want for anything. But he's just...he doesn't understand how much it hurts me, knowing he's with some other woman while I'm alone in bed.” Kitty shrugged a little helplessly and looked away, blinking rapidly. She twisted the shoulder straps of her bag anxiously, looked at the floor. “He says I can see other people, too, if I want but he isn't going to stop.” Her lips twisted bitterly, her voice turning to acid. “He just doesn't love me enough to stop.”

Hermione watched her silently for a moment. Took in her flushed face, tearful eyes and the way she was almost shaking with impotent anger.

“And you love him too much to leave,” said Hermione quietly.

Kitty looked back at her, a feverish look in her dark eyes.

“Love is a chain,” she declared. She strode over to Hermione and grabbed her hand, pulling her into a room with a different exhibit. “An irresistibly suffocating chain.”

*****

At 5 ’o clock, Anya hailed a taxi and the four of them climbed in to begin their hour long journey to Cape Kaliakra. They snacked on crisps and bottles of Coca-Cola as they drove across the flat countryside. Hermione took off her cap and sighed as she leaned out the window. The wind slapped across her sweat slick face and she breathed in large lungfuls of the clean, warm air. Anya was toying with the radio, flitting from channel to channel like a fussy bee offered too many flowers.

“Ah!” she suddenly exclaimed, settling on a channel which was playing an English song.

_—want my future, forget my past_  
_If you wanna get with me, better make it fast._

Hermione laughed out loud.

_Now don't go wasting my precious time_  
_Get your act together, we could be just fine_

Anya grinned at her from the front seat and they both bobbed their heads to the beat, laughingly singing the chorus.

_I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want_  
_So tell me what you want, what you really, really want_  
_I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah!_

The two women laughed uproariously. Kitty rolled her eyes and smiled out the window while the elderly cabbie threw a scandalised look at Anya who had begun to do a jerky jig in her seat. Hermione threw her head back, grinning unreservedly, letting herself be carried away by the next upbeat track and the wild summer wind ruffling her hair.

*****

Translations:

Malkiyat angliyski plevel shte nauchi bulgarski. Bikh iskal da vidya tova. — The little English weed is going to learn Bulgarian. I'd like to see that.

Govori na angliyski — Speak in English.

Bebe - Baby

Blagodarya ti — Thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits: Wannabe by the Spice Girls


	6. Chapter 6

Sasho had started to complain about being bored by the time they arrived at the entrance of the cape. They passed a white statue of a bulky man in uniform, holding what looked to be a telescope in his hand. The driver pulled into an empty spot in the parking lot. Kitty paid him while Hermione, Anya and Sasho got out to take a look around.

“Ooh!” exclaimed Hermione and immediately hurried over to a tiny souvenir shop in a corner of the parking lot. She could see brochures and guide books on the racks outside it. She plucked one of the thin booklets from the racks and began to devour it, paying little heed to the mugs, T-shirts and cheap decorations hanging in front of her.

Grabbing a juice box each from the nearby canteen, their group soon began to explore the ruins on the long outcropping of land. They spent more than an hour meandering under the sinking sun until Sasho finally cried that he was tired and needed to use the bathroom.

To Hermione's surprise, Anya volunteered to take the little boy to the bathroom while Kitty guided Hermione over to the edge of the headland.

“Cover me, won't you?” said Kitty, sweeping her handbag off her shoulder and reaching into it. Her arm disappeared up till her elbow. “Can't have the Muggles seeing this.”

Hermione hurried over and shielded Kitty from view of the Muggles milling about nearby. From her bag, Kitty pulled out a striped, blue and white picnic blanket and wide brimmed sun hat. After securing the hat atop her head, she and Hermione spread the blanket on the grassy ground and the two women dropped onto it with a grateful sigh.

Leaning back on her hands, Hermione tipped her head skyward and gazed at the bright blue vastness above, dotted with cotton boll clouds. The edge of the sky merged seamlessly with the dark blue sea below which she could hear crashing against the cliffside. Hermione felt the last traces of tension escape her as she breathed in the salty air, faintly scented with wildflowers and thought, _yes_ , _this is why I'm here. To feel as light as the gulls soaring on the breeze, as carefree as the waves pummelling against the rocks._

Her ruminations, however, were interrupted by Kitty clearing her throat.

“So, did you enjoy yourself today?” she asked pleasantly.

“Very much,” replied Hermione, unable to contain her happy grin. “Thanks for showing me around.”

Kitty gave a delicate shrug, smiling affably. “It was our duty. You're our guest.”

Hermione nodded, smiling, and turned her face back towards the cliff edge.

“So how long do you plan to stay?”

Hermione felt her eyes widen slightly and heat bloom across her already ruddy face. “Oh! Well, I thought I'd stay a couple of weeks. If that's all right of course. I didn't know you'd be here and wouldn't want to intrude on—”

“It's all right, it's okay!” Kitty cut her off, laughing. “We're all happy to have you. Well, except Baba of course. But don't worry, she'll come around. Especially considering how much Viktor likes you.”

Kitty's eyes clearly implied she wasn't talking about a platonic kind of liking. Hermione quickly looked away, cheeks turning scarlet. She wanted to curse herself. She'd come here wanting to get away from her feelings and just have some uncomplicated fun with a friend. _T_ _hat so?,_ muttered a peevish voice in her head, _Should've thought of that before you kissed him at the airport_. Hermione grimaced. Instead, she now had to suffer through an interrogation by her ex-boyfriend's protective elder sister.

“Hermione.”

Hermione looked back at Kitty. Her expression had become abruptly solemn, no trace of her customary relaxed smile.

“What's going on between you and Viktor? And don't say nothing. It's clear by the way you interact with each other that it's definitely _something_.”

“It—we—we're not together,” Hermione forced out, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of her neck. Her shirt felt uncomfortably sticky.

“But would you like to be?”

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I—well—we live in two different countries, very far away from each other. His interests are completely different from mine and I...I...”

“You like someone else.”

Hermione hesitated a second then breathed, “Yes.”

Kitty sucked her lips between her teeth and canted her head to the side. Her penetrating gaze reminded her eerily of Crookshanks. “Then why aren't you with them? The person you fancy. Surely surviving a war would be enough encouragement to get together with the one you want.”

“He's not...It's just a little—” Hermione sighed. “Complicated.”

“Try me.”

Hermione looked back at Kitty, at her shrewd black eyes. She wanted to know why she was here. Why she'd reinserted herself into Viktor's life and supposedly reignited his feelings for her. Hermione tried not to make a face. By now it had become disconcertingly clear to her that Viktor wasn't the only one grappling with old feelings.

Kitty raised her brows expectantly. And Hermione told her.

She told her about her and Viktor's shortlived romance during the second half of her fourth year and about her unrequited feelings for Ron. She told her about how jealous Ron had been of Viktor when he'd found out about him being her date to the Yule Ball. She told her about trying to catch his attention in fifth and sixth year. About the Lavender debacle. About Ron deserting her and Harry last year and the loss of his father and brother in battle. About waiting and waiting for him to tell her that he wanted more from her. Wanted her as more than a friend. Always _waiting_.

It wasn't until she finished speaking that Hermione realised she'd been crying. She hurriedly wiped her cheeks and glanced about to see if anyone was watching them. No one. And where _were_ Anya and Sasho?

Kitty was looking at her with a mixture of sympathy and disappointment. She chewed on her a lip for a minute before speaking. “Look, I'd like to give you a piece of advice, from one woman to another.”

She leaned closer, her eyes deadly serious.

“Don't go for someone who doesn't give you the respect and attention you need. If this Ron guy has been stringing you along for years without giving any clear indication of wanting more...drop him.”

Hermione recoiled a little, taken aback. She shook her head vehemently and said, “You make it sound as if it's as simple as crumpling up a piece of paper—”

“It isn't,” interrupted Kitty. “I know that. But—” Kitty took a deep breath. “Take this holiday to really think about what you want. Because, Hermione, I think if you really wanted him, you would have asked him out yourself by now.”

Hermione stared at her, bewildered. _Her_ ask _him_ out? But that's—that's...

Exactly what she should have done.

Or should she have? Ron had never seemed interested except for those fits of jealousy about Viktor and his reaction to her taking Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn's party. And she technically _had_ asked him out to that same party before approaching McLaggen. But then she'd insisted that it was just as friends. Why did she _hesitate_ so much?

Kitty had begun talking again. Hermione gazed back at her and was startled to find her eyes had turned almost glacial.

“And I know you're smart enough to realise that you've been stringing Viktor along for years now too.”

Hermione was stunned. She opened her mouth to argue back but Kitty silenced her with a sharp look, looking scarily similar to surly old Madam Krum.

“I don't know if what you're doing is intentional or not but listen, Hermione. _Make up your mind_. If you want to be with Ron, go home and tell him that. And if you want to be with Viktor, _tell him_. Don't keep him hoping for something that's not going to happen. As your _friend_ , I think he deserves that.”

The two women sat in silence after that, looking in opposite directions, each consumed by their own thoughts.

Minutes later, Anya finally arrived with a pouting Sasho in tow. Hermione was hard pressed not to glare at her. She'd stayed away until Kitty's interrogation was over and now she had the nerve to smile at her like they were best friends! Hermione gazed obstinately back at the cliff edge.

The sky and sea seemed too bright, lurid almost. Her skin was getting burned from the unforgiving rays of the sun and her hair was frizzing something nasty under her cap.

The two sisters chatted amiably about the ruins and statues around them, the weather, Viktor's upcoming game and a multitude of other topics. Sasho played with a few toy cars that his mother had fished out of her bag. And Hermione let her mind drift along on the humid sea breeze, wondering how on Earth she had gotten herself tangled up in a bloody love triangle.

*****

The sun set over Cape Kaliakra in a spectacular display of rippling golden-grey water that swallowed up the unwilling ball of light. The dying rays of the sun had turned the foliage around them a lovely golden-green. The sight was lovely enough to lift even Hermione's sunken spirits.

Hermione had had two hours to mull over Kitty's words and now, as she followed her hosts towards one of the few restaurants on the headland, she couldn't help but think that Kitty was right. Despite the fact that her own love life seemed to be a boiling mess, Kitty had rather aptly summed up the turmoil that had existed in Hermione's heart since fourth year.

Hermione had given Viktor a chance that year mainly just because he was interested. He was kind and attentive and understanding and had made it plain that he _wanted_ her. At that point she had been ready to discard her silly crush on Ron and move on but then he got all jealous about Viktor. It had seemed so obvious back then that he _did_ feel something for her. And fool that she was, she clung on to that. That hope that he'd finally return her feelings openly. But, he never did.

And so Hermione dated Viktor until the end of the school year.

_We live so far away from each other,_ she had told him on the last day of term. _And playing professional Quidditch is going to keep you so very busy._ _It would_ _be too difficult to stay together over such a long distance._

She didn't mention that she was also holding out for Ron. And remembering Viktor's sad but not entirely surprised look, she wondered if he had known. Probably. She had grown exceptionally close to him by that point and he knew her better than most.

Hermione felt her heart sink with guilt. She _had_ been leading him on. She'd poured out all her frustrations and wishes and worries and dreams to him when he'd been there in person and through letters when he had been absent. She had turned him into her safe haven, refusing to think about how obvious it was that he still liked her, knowing that he would be patient. That he would listen and not tell a soul.

_Dearest Hermione. Sweet Hermione. Mila._

She could hear his voice ringing in her head, affectionate but reprimanding.

_Was I not enough? Did I not give you what you needed? What you wanted?_

_You did_ , thought Hermione as she mechanically cut up the beef on her plate and brought it to her mouth. _I just never let myself dream so big._

The meat could have been leather in her mouth and she wouldn't have known the difference. By the time dessert was delivered to their table, Hermione's mind was made up.

She had not received a single letter from Ron since she had left the Burrow almost a month ago. Harry and Ginny had both written to her during her two week stay at her parents’ house, but not Ron. He had made her feel miserable during third year about Crookshanks killing Scabbers. He had made her feel horribly insecure when he had refused to believe someone had actually asked her to the ball. In sixth year, he'd had the _nerve_ to be angry about a kiss she'd shared with Viktor in _fourth_ year and then went around flaunting his barnacle of a girlfriend as if she was a prize. 

And he had left them on the Horcrux hunt.

She'd forgiven him for that, welcomed him back, but that had almost shattered her trust in him. She wondered if that was the reason why _she_ had not written to him either, never told him how she really felt. Because she knew, subconsciously at least, that he wasn't right for her.

Hermione was pulled out of her reverie when a jaunty tune began playing from the stereo not far from their table. The chorus of an achingly familiar song reached her ears.

_You can dance  
_ _You can jive  
_ _Having the time of your life  
_ _Oh oh oh  
_ _See that girl  
_ _Watch that scene  
_ _Dig in the dancing queen_

Hermione laughed, her mouth curling into a smile after what felt like ages.

“You know this song?” asked Anya. Both sisters were looking at her curiously.

“Yes,” replied Hermione, smiling blithely. She could remember her mother swaying in their study to ABBA songs, humming the words and sorting papers at the same time. “My mother really liked this song.”

Anya nodded and seemed to pay more attention to the song.

_Friday night and the lights are low  
_ _Looking out for a place to go_

“Ooh!” exclaimed Anya intrigued, her eyes flashing with her characteristic mischief.

Before Hermione could make sense of what was happening, Anya had hauled her out of her chair and over to the patch of grass beside the dining area.

_Where they play the right music  
_ _Getting in the swing  
_ _You've come to look for a king_

Anya raised her arms and began to sway with the music.

“What are you doing?” asked Hermione, looking aghast.

“Dancing!”

Anya continued to shake her hips and wave her arms in an improvised dance.

_Anybody could be that guy  
_ _Night is young and the music's high  
_ _With a bit of rock music, everything is fine  
_ _You're in the mood for a dance_

Anya pointed right at her with both hands, eyebrow raised like Elvis bloody Presley. Hermione couldn't help but laugh as she advanced on her, wiggling her bum to the beat.

_And when you get the chance_...

Hermione gladly grabbed her hands and joined in her ludicrous dance, uncaring that dozens of people were probably watching them and they were both rather uncoordinated from the wine they had with dinner.

_You are the dancing queen_  
 _Young and sweet, only seventeen  
_ _Dancing queen  
_ _Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah_

Hermione snorted and laughed as Anya spun her around. They stumbled through a wobbly waltz in the semi-darkness, squealing whenever they stepped on each other's feet. Hermione could hear Kitty's soft laughter from just behind them.

Hermione met Anya's eyes as the chorus rang out again. Her laughing but faintly serious eyes. Hermione's cheeks ached from smiling. She was nearly wheezing with laughter and couldn't remember the last time she had let go so completely.

It felt _glorious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits: Dancing Queen by ABBA


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, this is the chapter where we dip our toes into the M rated pool.

“Vot's the score?”

Mr Krum had just emerged from the basement, looking tired and harried. Kitty hurried over to help him out of his coat. Everyone was lounging on the sofas in front of the fireplace. Live commentary, in English, on Bulgaria's match against Brazil was blaring loudly from the radio on the coffee table.

“Brazil's in the lead,” replied Anya glumly, handing her father a cup of tea. “220 to 140.”

Mr Krum swore under his breath as he took a seat beside Anya and loosened his tie. “Has Snitch been sighted?”

“Two times,” replied Madam Krum gruffly, not looking up from her knitting. “Vos good thing it vos not caught. Gomez saw it before Viktor.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Brazil had been leading ever since the match had started four hours ago. Each member of the Krum family was scowling as they read or stared at the radio. Well, except Sasho of course. He was sitting on the rug at their feet, trying to construct a car with Lego blocks and was the only one unaffected by the tension. With an effort, Hermione turned back to the alphabet book she'd bought with Kitty a few days ago.

Within half an hour, Brazil had scored four more goals. Both Anya and Kitty had thrown down the magazines they had been reading and were now listening, hands clutching their hair, to the voice coming from the radio.

_“The rain's coming down really thick now, let me tell ya—and oh! Ivanova takes a Bludger to the back! De Silva in possession—Barbosa—Danchev—Radkov—oh! Marciano rams into Radkov nearly knocking him off his broom—”_

Madam Krum exhaled harshly and threw aside her knitting, a disgusted look on her face. Mr Krum was holding his empty teacup so tightly that Hermione was sure its handle would snap.

_“De Silva in possession, heading towards Zograf—but, wait! Krum's just gone into a dive! He's seen the Snitch!”_

Everyone started upright and leaned excitedly towards the wireless.

_“Gomez right on his tail! Krum dodges past Barbosa—he's heading towards the Veela! Gomez gaining—he's right on top of Krum! Oh, SHIT!”_

Kitty winced and darted a glance at Sasho whose ears had pricked up and was looking about with interest.

_“Gomez whacked on the head by a Bludger from Ramone! Krum flies into the throng of Veela—they scatter—and—”_

Hermione was on the edge of her seat, barely breathing, her eyes glued to the radio. There was silence on the air, the only thing audible was the pelting of raindrops in the distance and then—

A horn was blown, long and loud, cutting through the frozen quiet.

The Krums’ faces slowly began to lift, like the first crack of dawn after a pitch black night, as the announcer proclaimed, _“He's got it! Krum has caught the Snitch!”_

Hermione was nearly deafened by Anya and Kitty's shrieks of delight. They threw their arms around each other and jumped up and down screaming, “ _Spechelikhme! Spechelikhme!”_

_“The final score is 290 to 260!”_ the commentator continued, now struggling to be heard among the thousands of people cheering and clapping in the background. _“Bulgaria wins by 30 points. BULGARIA WINS!”_

Mr Krum slumped in his seat with a large sigh of relief, finally depositing his teacup and saucer on the table with shaking hands. Madam Krum was grinning, which looked almost unnatural since Hermione had only seen her frown, glare and, once or twice, smile curtly since she'd arrived. The old woman was struggling to get to her feet from the low couch. Hermione quickly hurried over to help her.

Madam Krum stiffened as soon as she touched her but allowed Hermione to assist her to a standing position. She was frowning again and gazing at Hermione with cold, blue eyes. She had just opened her mouth, no doubt to issue some sort of scathing remark, when a yelp followed by an outraged cry sounded from behind them.

Kitty had upset Sasho's Lego car while walking over to her grandmother. The car, which had resembled a large block of cheese on wheels, was now strewn about the carpet in smaller, caseous chunks. Sasho was crying, fat round tears sliding down his face as Kitty picked him up, apologising and trying desperately to look contrite. Sasho however, perhaps sensing his mother's insincerity, cried even harder, wiggling and pushing mutinously at his mother's chest.

Soon afterwards, Kitty carried him downstairs and the little boy's indignant cries becoming muffled by the cement floor. Mr Krum assisted Madam Krum to her room. Anya began shutting off the lights.

“Aren't we going to wait for Viktor?” asked Hermione confusedly.

Anya shot her an impish grin. “Nope. Viktor is going to be out with his teammates tonight, drinking and getting into all sorts of trouble. He von't be back until very late.”

Hermione felt her brows nearly reach her hairline. That didn't sound like Viktor at all. But, she supposed a few drinks and a few hours of merrymaking _were_ in order after such a nail-bitingly narrow win.

Bulgaria was now in the semi-finals.

*****

“Come, Viktor,” said Zograf. His words were slightly slurred from the shots they'd shared with their coach and Ministry bosses. “We've got a special surprise for you tonight!”

The boys all exchanged sly glances, grinning at each other. They'd been taunting him about this secret treat for days, telling him he'd get it if they got into the semi-final.

Viktor knew it was a woman.

It was traditional to go out to a gentleman's club after a big win, to get drunk and get laid. It was the least their bosses could do, said his teammates, getting them some nice squeezes for the night after risking life and limb for a game. And since he didn't really get much action in _that_ department, Viktor had no objections.

They used the Floo and a special password to reach their destination. Viktor didn't know where this place was exactly, except that its name was in Italian and try as he might he could never recognise the faces of the club's patrons.

They strode out of the secret room near the men's toilets and entered the main room. It was semi-dark, the room illuminated only by strobe lights that changed colour every few seconds. It was approaching midnight and, since it was the weekend, the place was packed.

They were led over to the front row in front of the stage. Viktor settled into his seat facing centre stage while Zograf conversed with their waiter about their drink orders. Viktor waited silently for the show to start while his teammates exchanged smug looks and excited whispers.

Viktor wanted to ask them if it was a Veela or part Veela that had them so restless but before he could, there was a loud _tap-tap-tap_ from the speakers and a hush fell over the gathered crowd.

He heard a sigh. Female. A woman began to sing.

_Come here, big boy._

Viktor's brows arched. English?

Drums and cymbals began to play, followed closely by a lazy saxophone. An excited ripple passed through the crowd as a lusty tune began to jerk its way to their ears.

The curtains withdrew to reveal a woman in a dark robe on the dais. She stood with her back to them, sighing and moaning to the music. Six dancers, three on each side of the singer, strutted onto the stage in similar black robes, waving their fingers at the audience.

_You've been a bad, bad boy  
_ _I'm gonna take my time so enjoy  
_ _There's no need to feel no shame  
_ _Relax and sip upon my champagne_

The dancers had taken off their robes to reveal school skirts and tight sweater vests.

_School girl kink_ , thought Viktor, smirking. It was something he was quite familiar with.

The singer was still fully clothed though, swaying sinuously to the words of her song. Her voice, syrupy sweet, dripped like honey into their ears, stoking a fire in their loins.

_'Cause I wanna give you a little taste  
_ _Of the sugar below my waist, you nasty boy_

Whoops and wolf whistles sounded from the seats beside and behind him. The air was throbbing with a sensual anticipation, a hunger. The singer turned and began descending the dais, shedding her robe, too. Viktor frowned. He couldn't make out her face very clearly, she was too far away from the lights at the edge of the stage, but he thought she looked familiar.

_I got you breaking into a sweat  
_ _Got you hot, bothered and wet  
_ _You nasty boy_

Viktor felt his jaw drop as she reached the edge of the stage, her face illuminated by the bright, white light.

_Hermione!?_

But, no. No, it wasn't her, Viktor decided as he rapidly catalogued her features. Her hair was blond and sleek, her lips were fuller and her breasts were much too large. But, other than that, the similarity was stunning.

Viktor watched, transfixed, as the singer continued her song, drinking absently from his self-refilling tumbler. The singer peeled off her skirt, sweater and shirt to reveal virginal white panties, stockings and a barely there bra. His teammates were snickering and nudging him in his seat.

“Look at those tits!”

“Took ages to find one like her.”

“She's American. Yours was English though, wasn't she?”

Viktor gulped. He was sweating and had a death grip on the handle of his chair. He felt hot all over and painfully aroused by the sight in front of him, one of his raciest fantasies brought to life.

He quickly shut his eyes as the singer began removing what little was left of her clothes. He couldn't watch this, not when the real thing was back at his home. Sharp but innocent. Confident yet curiously insecure. His sweet Hermione. She would be disgusted if she found out where he was, what he was doing.

Viktor tapped his glass with his wand twice. It vanished. He got up and began walking away from the stage, feeling lightheaded. His teammates immediately appeared to block him.

“The hell are you going? The show's just started!”

“Don’t you like her? We booked her just for you!”

Viktor pushed past them, muttering that his head was aching and he was going home. They looked offended and began to grumble amongst themselves. But, they didn't try to stop him again as he made his way back to the concealed room near the toilets.

Viktor Flooed into the study of the house in Shuranovo, just barely managing not to fall on his face as tripped over the grate. He swore under his breath as he walked unsteadily down the dark corridor. His head was full of fog, his skin too tight. He opened the door to his room and stumbled inside. He clawed off his shirt and made his way over to his dresser, feeling almost breathless with arousal.

_I need a shower and a good wank_ , he thought dizzily. _No. Scratch that, I need a shower and a good fuck. Preferably at the same time._ Hedone's peach, he was really starting to regret walking out of that club so early.

“Viktor?”

He started and looked to the side. There was a half-dressed woman in his room. A woman who looked an aweful lot like...

Viktor blanched and then flushed red. Oh, he was _fucked_.

*****

Translations:

_Spechelikhme —_ We won

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits: Nasty Naughty Boy by Christina Aguilera.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, there is dubcon in the following scene.

Hermione started as the door to her room opened and slammed shut. She placed the letter from Ginny on the side table and turned around to see who it was. She froze.

It was Viktor.

Not only that, it was a Viktor who had peeled off his shirt and was stumbling over to her dresser. Hermione snapped out of her shocked silence as the top drawer was pulled open with a loud rumble. She rounded the bed to stand between the bed and the door.

“Viktor?”

Viktor jumped and whipped around, his eyes widening as they focused on her.

“What—what are you doing here?” she asked cautiously. He was blinking owlishly at her and swaying slightly where he stood.

“Me?” he asked, looking very surprised. “Thees is my room. Vot are _you_ doing here?”

His accent was as thick as she remembered when she'd first met him in fourth year.

“No,” said Hermione slowly. “No, it's not. Your room is across the hall, don't you remember?”

He stared at her blankly for a minute, seeming to process what she had just said. Suddenly, all the colour drained from his face and his head jerked back like he'd been struck. “Your room.”

“Yes.”

“And my room is across the hall.”

“Yes.”

Viktor suddenly lurched forward, his eyes fixed on the door. But, on an impulse, Hermione stopped him before he had taken more than a few steps. She placed her hands on his chest and almost jerked them back in alarm. His chest was slick with sweat and his skin felt like it was on fire. _What_ had he been doing?

Viktor grasped her wrists and held her hands firmly against his chest. Hermione's breath quickened as the heat from his bare skin seeped through her palms and trickled up her arms. She looked up into his face. His eyes had that same strange glow in them, the one she had seen after his last match. He stared down at her in silence, as if he was trying to read her thoughts. Hermione felt dizzy and way out of her element.

“I—I just wanted to say how proud I am of you,” said Hermione, her voice coming out breathier than she'd intended. _Damn it, Granger, contol yourself,_ she scolded. “That was a really tough game and you played really well.”

Viktor did not reply. He slowly raised his hand and brushed a few curls away from her face. Hermione held perfectly still as he dragged the back of his fingers down the side of her face. His hand came to rest cradling the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the side of her throat. Hermione felt a thrill of fear and excitement shoot through, both from the way he was touching her and the look in his eyes. She closed her eyes as he lowered her lips onto hers.

The kiss was similar to the ones they'd shared at Hogwarts. Lingering but tentative, afraid to go too far. Though this kiss felt the same on the surface, Hermione knew that beneath the calm surface lay turmoil. In both of them.

She allowed Viktor to pull her closer and shivered as he traced his hand across the curve of her shoulder and down her arm.

Her left arm.

Hermione went rigid when he reached her scars. She instinctively pulled back but he closed his hand around her wrist like a vice. She covered most of the scars with her right hand as they separated. Some of the letters though were still visible through the gaps between her fingers.

Viktor stared at her arm, his face devoid of expression. After a minute, he looked up at her, his eyes arctic, and asked, “How did you get this?”

Hermione shook her head. “Viktor, I don't want to talk—”

“ _Who did this to you?”_

Hermione tried to wrench her arm out of his grip but he only held her tighter, his fingers clamping almost painfully around her thin wrist.

“Leave it! I don't want—”

“Hermione, I svare when I find out who did this—”

“You'll WHAT?” yelled Hermione, desperately trying to twist her arm out of his grip. “Kill them?”

Viktor snarled. “Like they'd be so lucky—”

“They're already dead!”

Viktor stared at her, apparently struck dumb. To her dismay though, his grip on her arm did not slacken. Instead he jerked her towards him and smashed his mouth against hers.

Hermione let out a startled squeak as he kissed her. Her free hand clutched at the back of his sweat slick neck as he sucked and nipped at her lips. This kiss was nothing like she'd ever experienced. It was hot, angry and _demanded_ her attention.

Hermione gasped as Viktor pressed her tightly up against him. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue past her lips, stroking all the parts of her mouth that she'd never imagined could be this sensitive. One hand was in her hair while the other pressed against the small of her back, bringing their lower halves together.

Hermione felt like a sail boat caught in a hurricane. Like the waves were climbing higher and higher, watery fingers reaching up to capsize her. But, it wasn't fear making her heart race and insides clench. It was a heady arousal. There was a fire growing low in her belly coiling and twisting, chanting _more, more, more_. Hermione had never before experienced this kind of intoxication and she kissed him back just as aggressively as he did.

Viktor pushed her backwards until the back of her legs met the edge of the bed and she fell onto the mattress. Viktor was on her in less than a second.

“Foolish voman,” he rasped, dragging his lips down the side of her face, yanking her earlobe between his teeth. “Selfish voman. Vy you didn't tell me?”

He was kissing down her neck, his lips leaving a scorching wet trail on her skin. He bit the junction of her neck and shoulder and Hermione arched against him, mouth falling open in a silent cry of pleasure.

“Vos I not trustworthy enough?”

He was speaking against her throat, the bridge of his nose poking the sensitive underside of her jaw. His beard tickled her neck and his erection was hot and prominent against her thigh. Hermione had to struggle to form words, her senses a roiling, pulsing amalgam of emotions. Surprise. Excitement. Fear. Lust.

“Y-You were—I just didn't want y— _Ah!”_

Viktor had grabbed her breast and was rubbing and pinching her nipple. Hermione trembled, fighting to keep her eyes open as he licked and sucked her throat. Her head was spinning, the image of the ceiling fan over her head was a blur. She felt like she was nearing a dangerous tipping point.

But, then Viktor shifted to press his erection against her pubic mound and that was what broke through the fog. She was on her bed, in just a tank top and shorts, letting a drunken man fondle her. It didn't matter who it was, having sex like this would be wrong.

“Viktor,” she gasped, trying to push him away, trying to untangle her legs from his.

Viktor growled against her collarbone and moved up to kiss her again but Hermione slapped her hand over his mouth.

“Stop,” she said urgently, looking into his eyes, clouded with desire. “ _Stop_ , Viktor.”

He stilled, frowning and blinking rapidly, as if trying to dispel the madness that had overtaken his mind. Both of their minds really, thought Hermione, blushing scarlet at her own wanton behaviour.

Viktor took several deep breaths through his nose and leaned back, allowing Hermione room to sit up.

“Too—too much?” asked Viktor dazedly. He was panting slightly, beads of sweat trickling down his temple and into his beard.

“Yes,” replied Hermione, nodding unsteadily. “Too much.”

Hermione took a few deep, measured breaths, heart still beating a rapid tattoo in her chest. She blushed when she became aware of the wetness between her thighs. She looked over at Viktor whose eyes seemed to have mostly cleared up and his expression was that of growing horror.

“I—I am so sorry," he stammered, hastily backing away from her on the bed. “Hermione, I didn't mean to force you—”

Hermione instantly shook her head at him. “You didn't force me!”

To prove it, she leaned forward and planted a firm but close mouthed kiss on his lips. She lightly trailed her hand over his beard as she pulled away. Viktor looked down. Hermione followed his gaze to her arm, the one branded with the word ‘MUDBLOOD’.

Hermione took a peek at his expression now that he was more himself. He looked angry and a little disbelieving. But, most of all...sad.

“Go to your room,” she said quietly, turning her arm over to hide the hideous mark from view. “Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered and leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight.”

As he swung his legs off the bed and got up, Hermione couldn't help but add saucily, “Not _quite_ the goodnight kiss I was expecting.”

Viktor turned back to her, brows raised in surprise. The corner of his mouth curled up in a half smile.

“Not quite the response I was expecting,” he fired back, giving her a very obvious once-over.

Hermione blushed and looked away, acutely aware of her messed up hair and rumpled clothes.

Viktor left her room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Hermione fell back against the mattress and grimaced, reviewing her first sexual encounter in her head and the new feelings it had awoken in her.

Oh, she was in _so_ much trouble.


	9. Chapter 9

“Tuh.”

Kitty pointed to the next alphabet.

Hermione bit her lip. “Yu?”

“Close. It's ‘Oo’.”

Hermione frowned. “Haven't we already done that?”

“That was ‘Ow’,” explained Kitty patiently. “This is ‘Oo’.”

“Right,” muttered Hermione and tried to guess the next letter.

It was Monday morning and Hermione, Kitty and Sasho were sitting at the dining table, their lessons open in front of them. Sasho had picked up the Cyrillic alphabet frustratingly fast while Hermione was still confusing her ‘puh’s and ‘ruh’s. Hermione was muttering the letters and their sounds to herself when heavy footsteps sounded in the adjacent living room. Viktor slouched into the dining room, red-eyed, hair sticking up like a ruffled mane.

“Ah! Looks who's up!” exclaimed Kitty, beaming, as her brother dropped into a chair and rested his head in his hand, looking miserably hungover. Hermione couldn't really muster up much sympathy for him. “And before noon, too!”

Kitty stood up from the head of the table and wrapped her arms her brother's shoulders, her gleeful smile a sharp contrast to his surly squint.

She planted a smacking kiss on his cheek and asked, “Hangover potion then?”

Viktor grimaced and grunted.

“No need to be so grouchy,” said Kitty brightly and rounded the table to enter the kitchen. “You knew this would happen and you went anyway. _But_ , I have made your favourite pancakes so you do have something nice to look forward to, Vitya.”

Viktor glanced blearily around the table, spotting Hermione and Sasho with their work laid out in front of them.

“Vot are you doing?” he asked.

“Learning the Cyrillic alphabet,” replied Hermione wearily.

Viktor perked up a little. “Really?”

“Yes. I have to say I can understand why you complained so often about strange sounding English words. The ‘b’s sound like ‘v’s, the ‘p’s sound like ‘r’s and the ‘h’s sound like ‘n’s. And why are there so many letters that sound the same?”

Hermione was having a hard time hiding her frustration. She was usually a quick learner but her progress in learning this new language felt depressingly slow.

Viktor seemed to be enjoying her little tantrum. He smiled at her and said, “They are not the same. They just seem that vay for a beginner.”

“How encouraging,” grumbled Hermione, glaring down at her alphabet chart. She darted a glance up at Viktor to find him scratching his jaw and staring impatiently at the kitchen door.

“I'm going to head over to the park in a while,” said Hermione casually. “The weather's quite nice today and I thought I'd get a little exercise.”

There was an almost instant flash of recognition in Viktor's eyes and he sat up a little straighter.

“Of course,” he said. “I vill come vith you.” He grimaced. “Valking vill help clear my head faster.”

Hermione hummed and looked back down at the chart as Kitty strode in with Viktor's breakfast.

*****

“Do you vant to talk about it?”

Hermione absently rubbed her scarred forearm, the mark covered up by skin coloured arm sleeves. They were sitting under the canopy of a large oak tree in a corner of the park. It was almost noon on a weekday so there was hardly anyone else there.

“I suppose we'll have to, won't we?” she said, shifting against the rough bark of the tree, looking straight at the fountain in the middle of the park.

“You—you don't haff to say anything now if you don't vant to,” he said gently.

“And what'll that achieve?” asked Hermione irritably. “We'll have to talk about it eventually.”

“Then talk.” He didn't sound gentle this time.

Hermione felt herself deflate. Fighting about this would be pointless. It would achieve nothing but make both of them unreasonably angry with each other. It was odd, this lack of enthusiasm for arguing when it came to Viktor. With Ron, it was so easy (and _exciting_ ) to fight, scream at each other and then not talk to one another for days. But, fighting with Viktor simply made her unhappy. The thrill of a good fight was always tempered by the knowledge that she was upsetting him and upsetting _him_ had always bothered her more than upsetting Ron.

Hermione leaned into Viktor and dropped her head onto his shoulder, his arm curling around her waist, pulling her close to him. Hermione kept her gaze on a row of flower beds in front of them as she told him, in detail, about her, Harry and Ron's capture by the Snatchers and the events at Malfoy Manor leading up to her torture.

“She used the Cruciatus Curse on me,” said Hermione flatly. She felt Viktor stiffen and his fingers tighten around her waist. “She was saying over and over that we'd been in her vault and ‘what else did you take’ and that she'd kill me if I didn't tell her. I didn't know what to say, what to do—I was in so much _pain—_ I—”

Viktor pressed her face into his neck with his other hand as she began to whimper and shake, the memory flashing like a whiplash through her mind. Sharp, clear and quick. Indelible. Hermione was distantly aware of Viktor combing his fingers through her hair and murmuring to her, “It's all right. It's okay, it's okay. You're alive. You're _safe_. She's dead. That crazy voman is dead.”

After several long minutes, the memory sank back beneath her subconscious and the shaking subsided. Hermione drew away from him, wiping away a few stray tears with the back of her hand.

“I don't quite remember when she...cut up my arm,” said Hermione. She stared down at the hem of her summer dress, twisting the light cardigan in her lap. “I just remember waking up at Shell Cottage with this _aweful_ pain and Fleur saying over and over again that she was sorry and that she'd done everything she could but the s—scarring—”

Hermione exhaled sharply, looking at the gurgling fountain again, blinking away tears. She looked back at Viktor. He was gazing at her left arm, expression closed.

There was a beat of silence before he asked, “Can I see it?”

Hermione stared at him incredulously. He looked dead serious. He was asking her to bare that ugly mark to him _here?_ In a _public park?_

_But, it's perfect, isn't it?_ , a voice whispered in her head. _The place is almost deserted and if someone somehow does manage to see, it will be a Muggle. They won't know who you are or the meaning of the vile word on your arm._

Feeling unreasonably bold, she pulled up the sleeve to reveal the jagged pink scar tissue. _Let him see,_ she thought, _let him see what the war has done to me. Let's see if he feels the same way about me afterwards._

Viktor lightly traced his fingertips over the raised, capital letters. Hermione convulsively clenched her fist. He looked like a mortician inspecting a particularly mangled corpse. Hermione felt a sort of disgusted thrill having someone other than herself touch it.

“It's ugly,” she said.

“Yes, it is.”

Hermione looked up at him, shocked and more than a little hurt. She tried to jerk her arm back but his fingers clamped around her wrist, staying the movement. Hermione was reminded of the events of last night. She had just opened her mouth to protest when Viktor suddenly shifted to stand on his knees and leant forward, eyes ablaze.

“This scar shows the ugliness of the voman who gave it to you,” he said, scowling fiercely. “It shows your endurance, your _strength_ and _loyalty_. I don't know if this scar vill go away, marks made with cursed blades usually don't unless you know the counter curse or the blade is destroyed...”

He raised his brows at her questioningly but Hermione shook her head. Viktor frowned, looking disappointed.

“Listen to me carefully, _mila_ , there is nothing for you to be ashamed of or afraid of about this scar. Do you understand?”

Hermione gazed at him searchingly for a moment, wondering if he truly understood what he had just said.

“I can never go out in public with this uncovered, you know,” she said, suddenly anger, eyes pooling anew with tears. “People would turn away from me in disgust or just plain pity me. ‘Poor Hermione Granger,’ they'd say, ‘Another victim of Bellatrix Lestrange's blood lust’.” She curled her lip, sneering. “I hate what she did to me but I'd do it all over again if it meant saving my friends, if it meant winning the war.”

Viktor's face was blurred behind a film of tears but she could still see him staring at her in astonishment.

“I know you vould,” he breathed. “I know.”

Hermione blinked and felt two tears plummet from her eyes. Her vision cleared and she could make out a few other emotions playing out over his face. Concern. Admiration. Tenderness. His touch was gentle as he wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Hermione was sure no one had ever looked at her like Viktor did now and she felt a strange fluttering in her chest thinking about it.

She drew away from him, slipping her arm out of his hold. She looked away, sniffing and swiping at her cheeks. Her face felt hot and she wasn't sure if that was entirely due to the heat. Hermione cleared her throat and attempted to steer the topic away to something pleasanter.

“So,” she said. “Where exactly did you go last night?”

Viktor, as expected, flushed red with embarrassment. He settled back down next to her looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Ah. I— _Vee_ —had gone to a club to celebrate,” he said, tapping his thumb nervously against his thigh. “Just for drinks and to votch the cabray.”

“Cab-u-ray,” Hermione corrected under her breath as she listened with raised brows.

“I think one of my teammates put a potion in my drink. I suddenly began feeling a headache so I came home early.”

Hermione remembered the heated look in his eyes the night before, his flushed, fevered skin and the way he'd kissed her. Like he was starving and she was a feast. The memory sent a thrill down her body and Hernione felt her lips twist into a not-so-innocent smile.

“What kind of potion was it?” she asked.

Viktor chanced a glance at her sideways and his eyes immediately narrowed when he saw her smile.

“I think you can make a good guess,” he said.

Hermione huffed a laugh and looked away. She felt Viktor place his hand over hers and when she looked back he had the most shamefaced expression she'd seen in a long time.

“Hermione, I am so very sorry for the vay I behaved last night,” he said earnestly, anxiously. “It was shameful and completely unconsunable.”

Hermione blinked and smiled despite herself. “Unconscionable.”

“Unconshunable,” he amended, eyes fixed unwaveringly on hers.

He looked like he truly did regret his behaviour last night. Hermione had been taught that a man who couldn't control himself around a bottle was a man who shouldn't be trusted. But, she knew Viktor was an exception. He had never once behaved inappropriately towards her during their brief courtship in fourth year. Indeed, his self control was one of the things she admired about him and she also knew what it felt like to be swept up in the euphoria of a big victory. But...

“I have to admit I was a little afraid when you came to my room last night,” said Hermione, pulling her hand out from under his. “You were much less in control of yourself than you normally are.”

Viktor's face fell, his shoulders drooping.

“I'm sorry. I should not haff been so careless about vot I drank and coming to your room in such state was completely—”

“Though I should also point out,” interrupted Hermione, gazing at the flowers encircling the fountain. “that I did feel a little...excited by the way you acted. About what we did.”

She glanced sideways at Viktor, feeling brazen yet shy. He was seemed frozen in place, mouth gaping open.

“Excited,” he repeated.

“Just a little.”

Viktor's mouth snapped shut and his eyes cleared, a hungry, hawk-like look solidifying in them.

“You liked it?” His voice had lowered to a growl. Hermione felt her pulse jump, a warm, tingling anticipation descending down her body.

“We might have been going a bit too fast,” Hermione murmured. “But—yes. I liked it.”

“And vould you like to do it again?”

Viktor had shifted to carefully place a fist in the space between her legs and leaned in with his other hand braced against the tree trunk. Hermione felt pinned by his gaze and by the way he crowded her. She wanted to feel him pressed against her again.

“Maybe.”

Viktor's eyes dropped to her lips. He slowly raised his hand from between her legs and placed his forefinger on her bottom lip, middle finger resting delicately on her chin. Her mouth parted automatically. A familiar heat flared in his eyes and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Viktor slowly dragged his fingers down her chin and neck, stopping at the swell of her breasts peaking out from the neck of her sleeveless summer dress. Hermione sat frozen solid, anticipation mounting, feeling like a sparrow about to be devoured by a hawk.

Viktor tilted his head and bent forward to press his lip against the curve of her neck. Hermione's eyes fell closed and her breath left her in a huff as he traced his lips up her neck, following the line of her jaw to her lips. Hermione waited breathlessly for him to kiss her. But, he just hovered over her lips until she opened her eyes again, feeling confused and impatient.

“Do you vant this?” he rasped. He looked fearful, like he was on the edge of loosing control again.

“Yes!” gasped Hermione and leaned forward to finally join their mouths in an electrifying kiss.

The kiss was as passionate as the one from last night but without the sloppiness from Viktor's drinking. Hermione thrilled in the way Viktor's hands smoothed down her body and she copied him eagerly, feeling bold and oddly high. He gasped when she nipped at his lip. She quickly swept her tongue into his mouth and tried to emulate his technique from last night. Hermione wondered if she wasn't that successful because Viktor quickly pulled away with a sucking motion around her tongue.

_Like fellatio,_ Hermione giggled inwardly but all thoughts were driven from her mind as Viktor pulled her between his legs and dipped her back, inserting his wet tongue into her mouth, stroking her orally.

Hermione felt the world melting into an insignificant puddle around her and and only jolted back to awareness when she felt something crawling up the outside of her thigh. She almost screamed, thinking it was an insect but quickly realised no garden bug was quite this large or had five digits placed quite so familiarly.

She sighed into Viktor's mouth as his hand caressed the smooth skin of her thigh, fingers inching torturously upwards. Her head was spinning like it had been last night and she felt as if tiny electric currents were zinging up her legs, her chest and to her half addled brain. It was only when Viktor's fingers brushed edge of her knickers that she pressed her hand down on his to stop his progress.

“Wait, wait,” she gasped, pulling away. “Too much, that's too much.”

To her relief, Viktor immediately slipped his hand out from under her dress and rested it on her hip as he straightened her into a sitting position.

“ _Akh, moyata_ _sladka,_ so close,” he breathed, nose pressing into her cheek, hot breath turning her skin to goose flesh. He planted a kiss just below her ear.

Hermione felt hot and sweaty and deliciously out of breath. She knew that she should feel more ashamed of allowing a man to snog her and feel her up in public but, right then, she just felt too exhilarated to care.

“Well, you'll just have to contend yourself with a hand on my thigh, Krum,” said Hermione, attempting to sound brisk rather than breathless. She stood up swiftly, feeling slightly dizzy, and put some much needed space between them. “We'd better head back. We told Kitty we'd return in an hour.”

Viktor was grinning as he hoisted himself onto his feet. Hermione blushed when her eyes drifted below his belt and she realised just how pleased he was by their encounter.

*****

Hermione swiped over her hairline with the back of her hand, grimacing at the heat. It didn't help that she had donned her cardigan again. She didn't want Viktor's sisters or worse, his grandmother, finding out about her scar. She could just imagine Kitty and Anya's pitying looks and Madam Krum turning up her nose at the foul word on her arm, muttering about her impropriety and poor stock.

Hermione's attention was drawn back to the present when Viktor swung their linked hands between them. The pair was walking on the the old, battered pavement back towards his house.

“Vot is betveen us, Hermione?” asked Viktor. He was smiling at her but his eyes gave away how serious he was.

“Our hands?” Hermione tried to deflect.

She still felt overheated and a little disbalanced from their makeout session earlier. _Their_ second _makeout session in less than 12 hours_ , thought Hermione dismally. _So much for 'just friends'._

Hermione had had no intention of renewing her romance with Viktor when she'd decided to visit him in Bulgaria but now she could see how naïve an idea that had been. Viktor had never really stopped fancying her, that had been clear even in his letters, but he seemed to have backed off somewhat when she had hinted that she'd become interested in someone else during fifth year. But, now that someone else wasn't an option and Hermione wondered...

Viktor rolled his eyes. “You know vot I mean.”

“We're friends,” she said, keeping her eyes on the approaching street corner.

“Friends who kiss each other half clothed?”

Hermione blushed scarlet. “Well, that—that's—” she cut herself off with a sigh and grimaced. “Oh gosh, you're right we do need to talk about this.”

Hermione glanced back at Viktor. He had ducked his head with a smile and pulled on her hand to stop her.

He seemed to hesitate for just a second before he asked confidently, “I vant you to be my girlfriend again. Vould you like that?”

Hermione stared at him, at a loss for words. He really wanted to get back together with her? After all these years of being friend-zoned and having ample amount of time to date other witches? After seeing her wreck of an arm? And he hadn't once asked about Ron...

“How do you know I'm not with someone else?”

Viktor raised his brows and his lips twisted into a bemused smile. “If you are then he must be very bad lover if you are villing to let another man touch you like I did.”

Hermione looked away, face burning again.

“Hermione.”

She looked back at him.

“You vouldn't haff come here if you had a boyfriend back in England.”

Hermione glanced down at their joined hands. At the way his large hand encompassed her smaller one, his grip not too loose and not too tight. Just right.

She looked back up at him and said, “No, I wouldn't have.”

Viktor stepped closer to her so they were standing less than a foot apart. He gazed at her with an intensity that she was quickly growing familiar with, but this time it was tightly controlled. Hermione placed her hand on his chest and felt the dull, rapid thumps of his heart, matching her own. Should she push him back or pull him closer? It felt like a barrage had finally reached its capacity and the water was sloshing over the edge. The wall was weakening.

“So vot's your answer?” he asked quietly.

The cracks were widening.

_Why should I refuse? A man who wants me and cares for me and isn't afraid to show it._

Water was gushing out of the holes, held back for so long.

_A man who everyone believed would forget about me, grow bored of me. The famous Quidditch player, an international celebrity. But, he didn't._

_I deserve this,_ Hermione thought fiercely, looking up at Viktor as he stood patiently waiting for her response. _After all I've been through, all I've given up. I deserve this._

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling something give way and come down with a crash inside her. “Yes, I want to be with you again.”

And as his lips descended onto hers, she let herself be carried away by the flood.

*****

Translations:

moyata sladka — my sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! A double update! So I have some good/bad news. This is the last chapter of the story, at least for the time being. I have some really important exams coming up next month and I need to put writing on hold to focus on my studies. For those of you who wanted more, I had SO many ideas and plans for this (and I'll probably continue this fic at some point in the future) but real life can be a real bitch sometimes. I'm sorry if this is a disappointment for some of you. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story, for leaving kudos and comments. It really means the world to me knowing that someone is reading this and actually enjoying it. :)


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